


pull me into your orbit, be my sun

by louly23



Series: clueless yeehaw lesbians [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: College, Drabble Collection, F/F, Mentions of religion, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also lots of pet names, country giiiiirrrl i love youuuuuu, h drives a truck, if i miss something you think should be tagged just lmk !, its nonsense but idc :), minor homophobia, this is my homage to southern accent f/f h&l
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 12:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louly23/pseuds/louly23
Summary: It's moments like this, like when Louis leaves her sneakers and hoodies in Harry’s closet or when she refers to Harry’s parents’ house as ‘home’ that make her think of the future, not so far from now, when they’ll share more than a love of spicy buffalo wings and a mailing address; when they’ll share a mortgage, a two-car garage, a junk drawer…a last name....or, Harry is from a sleepy southern town. So is Louis. Cue the falling madly-in-love and whatnot.





	pull me into your orbit, be my sun

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing bits and pieces of this "fic" for over a year now. i barely expected it to get to 300 words, let alone this fully grown 8k baby. i might add some bits and bobs to it later if y'all like it, so let me know. 
> 
> thanks to each and every lovely that comment, kudos, and click on my fics. 
> 
> (yes, even you, reading this. you look wonderful today, by the way. i like your shirt. thanks for being here.)

Harry Styles has been asleep for less than twenty minutes when she hears the window open.

Normally, this should terrify a person, right? A still night in early summer, filled perfectly with books that Harry had been putting off reading until she was home from college, the sounds of her sister putting away her clothes in the next room, her cotton sheets with the AC cranked, and her hair braided securely but gently by her Mama’s careful hands. With such a perfect night, unmarred by studying or stress for the first time in what feels like years, you would think she’d find sleep easily. But, alas, she laid in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, rolling over to check her phone, thinking about picking her book back up, thinking about watching some TV, then doing none of it, sighing, rolling back over, and to trying sleep.

So after two unsuccessful hours of half-assed sleeping, Harry was grateful to sink into a sort-of slumber. And then the window opened. But instead of freezing, becoming suddenly alert and screaming at the potential murderer coming into her room, she sighs, and shuts her eyes again.

And instead of silently taking in Harry’s sleeping form and realizing, _Hey! Harry is asleep, maybe I should just get into bed next to her, not say anything and go to sleep too!_ Louis Tomlinson does what only Louis Tomlinson would deem appropriate, and instead jumps onto straddle Harry’s hips and smacks her on the side of the head.

“Wake up,” Louis demands, _way_ too loudly for 3’o fuck in the morning, and switches from smacking to tickling until Harry sits up and shoves her off the bed with a glare. Louis falls on the ground with an _oof!_ and Harry rolls over and closes her eyes, but also scooches closer to the wall and pulls open the blanket to make a space behind her.

Harry hears nothing for a moment, then another, then she hears the quiet creaking of someone standing on the floor, then the quiet shushing of the carpet, then she feels the hot and solid press of Louis against her back, one arm wiggling under Harry to pull her close and the other reaching up and brush a few stray pieces of hair away from her ear, then hot breath and, “Harry, wake up” Louis says again, barely a whisper this time.

Harry sighs and rolls over, still cocooned in Louis’ arms, and blinks sleepily at the blue-eyed monster in her bed. “I am awake,” she says tiredly, “what?”

“Pay attention to me.”

Harry starts to roll back over.

“No, okay I’m sorry, babe, I’m sorry. Pleeeeease don’t go back to sleep.”

Harry glares at Louis for several minutes then sighs again, stretches her back out until it cracks, then scrunches up small and tucks her head under Louis’ chin and rests her cheek on Louis’ breastbone. “I’m listening.”

“Okay so there were these two horses, one named Princess and one named Charles—”

Harry snorts, “Real original names, Lou—” Louis pinches her. “Okay, ow, fuck, okay. Tell me about the horses. What did they look like?”

Louis smooths back the flyaways on the top of Harry’s head, “Princess was auburn, that kind of strawberry-blonde that Mrs. Haber’s pony was that one year—”

“The pony is still that color, Lou. And I told you her name is Marshmallow now, not Mrs. Hab—”

“And Charles,” Louis continues, loudly ignoring her, “was dark, deep brown. Like special dark chocolate. And they were friends, of course. They liked to be pastured next to each other and brushed together and sometimes they slept in the same stall.” She pauses, “Almost all of the time they slept in the same stall. Practically always.”

Harry has to hold back a laugh, because she knows where this is going, “And then?”

“And then,” Louis says dramatically, as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “Princess started sleeping in her own stall, alone, all the time, and Charles practically froze every night—” “Horses are pastured in the summer! No way it was cold—” “BECAUSE, she didn’t have Princess to snuggle up against as she slept, and then one night she actually froze, cold and lonely and sad because her—” Harry leans up and kisses her mid-word, just a soft press of lips, then she leans back to smile at her girlfriend, who has been making up terrible excuses to sleep in her bed every night for the past month and a half and apparently has run out of ideas and is blushing a little bit and not meeting her eyes.

“You missed me.” Harry says smugly, “You walked to my house,” “I rode my bike,” Louis interrupts, whining, “At 3’o fuck in the morning just so I would know that you missed sleeping next to me, when we’ve literally only been apart for six hours, and have been texting the whole time. But you are so damn in love with—” Louis kisses her, reaching back to take the hair-tie off her braid and slowly untangle it, running her fingers through Harry’s curls. Harry makes a muffled protest, leaning back to complain, “My Mama did that braid!” Louis kisses her again, then pulls her close again so Harry can tuck her head back under Louis’ chin. “I’ll re-braid it tomorrow.”

“You misssssed me,” Harry whispers, sing-songy.

“Shushhh,” Louis whines.

“My girlfriend misssssed me.”

“Shush.”

“Goodnight, Charles.”

Harry can practically hear Louis smiling. “Goodnight, Princess.”

XXX

Harry honks the horn and leans out the window of her truck with two fingers in her mouth to whistle, loud and brash and rude, “That’s my girl!” Across the field, Louis is standing with her fellow camp leaders in her short little short-shorts and sports bra surrounded by girls of all ages, all wearing matching shorts and t-shirts bearing the ‘GO TIGERS’ logo that belongs to the same high school Louis and Harry had graduated from.

Louis ignores Harry, and all of the girls giggling and pointing at Harry’s car, but Harry can tell she’s pleased by the way she bites her lip before she gathers up the girls for their good night huddle. Later, after all of the girls have been picked up by their parents and Louis has grabbed her gym bag from where she hid it in the bleachers, she saunters over to Harry’s truck in all her tight-shorts, toned, tanned glory.

Louis tosses her bag on top of the tarp-covered back of the truck as she jumps up into the passenger seat, leaning over Harry’s stick shift to give her a hello kiss. As she sits back into her seat, biting that precious bottom lip of hers, Harry follows the movement of Louis’ body as she buckles her seatbelt, the tucked-in curve of her bare waist, the perfect little swell of Louis’ belly above her sofee shorts. Every single thing about this girl is, is beautiful. Perfect even, to Harry. There’s nothing about her that Harry doesn’t love, even her rank, sweat-soaked, sock-covered feet, which Harry can now smell very vividly, because Louis has kicked off her ancient, white sideliners and perched them onto the AC vent closest to Harry’s face. Harry looks from the nasty feet to Louis’ shit-eating grin with a fondly-wrinkled nose.

Harry rolls her eyes as she buckles her seatbelt, shifting the truck into gear and backing out of the parking lot with practiced ease as Louis cackles and snatches Harry’s aux cord, unplugging the low, soothing Floyd song Harry had been listening to and attaching her own phone to blast her favorite alternative playlist, wailing off-key at the top of her lungs and smacking her tan, jiggling thighs in time with the beat.

Harry makes a few quick turns through their small, sleepy southern town, waving at people she knows on the sidewalks as they pass through. Louis sings quieter for the moment, reaching over and taking Harry’s hand off the gearshift and twining her fingers through it before placing it on her warm, bare thigh. Harry rubs her thumb over the back of Louis’ hand without looking away from the road. “How was practice?”

“Good.” Louis says, brightly, “They have a good crop this year. All the little ones can tumble pretty well, and I don’t think captain tryouts will be a total bloodbath this year; the girls are more intent on working together.” Her voice is proud, like it always is when she talks about the girls she coaches. Harry squeezes her hand and smiles as she pulls off on a side road that goes in the absolute opposite direction of both Louis’ and Harry’s houses.

Louis lets out a little gasp looking back at the road behind them and then let’s go of Harry’s hand to smack her on the shoulder “Harry Elizabeth absolutely not!” Harry smirks, but says nothing, keeping her eyes focused on the road, “What do my parents think?”

“That you’re sleeping at mine so we can go to church with my Momma in the morning,” she says smugly as she turns farther through the winding, twisting, gravel road, bookended on both sides by trees.

“And your Momma?”

“I told her I’m taking my _girlfriend_ out for a romantic evening under the stars.”

Harry doesn’t have to look over at Louis to know that she’s gotten all shy and blushy and quiet, the way she gets only when she and Harry are alone. Harry pulls up when she reaches a small gravel plateau that faces a short valley down to the town creek below. She reverses the truck, turning it so the back is facing the creek, and turns it off. Harry looks at Louis, who is still warm and flushed looking from practice and still wearing nothing but her sports bra and shorts. She leans over the truck’s console to give Louis a kiss. “Hi.” She says after, her mouth still a breath’s width away from Louis’.

“Hi.” Louis says back shyly, her cheeks pink and eyes bright. Harry cups a hand on Louis’ cheek to kiss her again, softer and slower than before.

“I have one question for you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says as she leans farther over to Louis’ side of the car and at the same time pulling the smaller girl’s body closer to her own. Louis’ breath catches in her throat when Harry’s t-shirt covered belly comes in contact with her bare one, and Harry drags her fingers up the dip of Louis’ spine just to feel her girlfriend shudder and hold back the tiniest of moans.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, breathless. Harry hums as she looks down at Louis, beautiful and warm and so close to her.

“Would you…” she asks, leaning down to press a line of kisses down Louis’ neck as Louis bites her lip, “…like to race me to the creek?” and then, without waiting for an answer, Harry pulls away and jumps out of the truck to sprint down the path to the creek, stripping down to her underwear when she reaches it and wading in until she’s waist-deep in murky water.

Behind her she can hear indignant yelling, the truck door slamming, and clumsy feet scrambling down the path after her, but Harry doesn’t turn. She just puts her palms on the top of the water and lets them float, breathing in the last few seconds of calm she’ll have for the remainder of the evening.

Harry adjusts Louis’ head from its’ precarious position on her bicep to the crook where her neck meets her shoulder. Louis makes the quiet snuffling noise that she always makes when she sleeps and she snuggles her cold little nose into the hollow of Harry’s collarbone; it takes every muscle in her body not to flinch. She rubs a hand down Louis’ back, tracing the curve of her spine underneath the threadbare t-shirt she’s wearing (a too-big, ancient one of Harry’s that Louis has stubbornly adopted as hers and hers alone) and presses a kiss to Louis’ temple while inhaling the scent of sweat and sunscreen and creek water lingering in her hair. Louis makes the snuffling noise again, and adjusts her body so that she’s pressed against Harry’s side from tip to tail, leeching off her body heat like the freezing little goblin that she is.

The night had been perfect, even by Harry’s high standards for what her girlfriend deserves to experience as a date. They had swam in the creek until a little before sunset, laughing and splashing and kissing and kissing and kissing in a way that they never could in town or around their families or even their friends at college, because no matter how ‘OK’ everyone pretends to be, Harry can still feel their stares when she so much as looks in Louis’ direction. She pulls Louis’ prone form a little closer, feelings of protectiveness that never really leave simmering low in her gut. She just doesn’t understand how someone could see the way she and Louis look at each other and think anything other than “Wow, that’s what love is.”

She recalls a quote from fucking Twilight of all things, “When he moves, even a little bit, you adjust your position at the same time. Like magnets…or gravity.” she snorts, that’s when you know you’re in too deep, Styles, when quotes from the highly problematic series inspired by some fucking Mormon’s_ wet dreams_ start making sense.

But it’s still true, how deep she feels for Louis.

It’s far too soon to be feeling like this, barely four months in, and a million jokes about U-hauls come to mind but then again, it’s not too soon. Louis has been the center of Harry’s universe since she was four and Louis was six, and although the naps they take together have changed considerably since then, the Louis in her arms now is just as much hers as she was when they met on Harry’s first day of preschool. Just because Harry spent most of their middle and high school years pining and Louis spent it repressing and it took them the better part of 15 years to finally give this thing, this burning, full-bodied, existential, greater-than-fate love that binds them together a shot, well, Harry still plans on telling their children that they’ve been in love since the moment they locked eyes on the playground.

Against her, she feels Louis’ inhale sharp through her nose, and then the turn of her head. Harry glances down at her and smiles, “G’morning, my own.”

Louis eyes, still clouded with dreams, are soft and warm as they stare back into Harry’s own, “It’s not morning yet.”

Harry reaches over to grab her phone, clicking the screen on to check the time. “It’s three, love. Good morning applies.” Louis rolls her eyes and snuggles back into Harry’s neck.

“It’s still dark out. Morning happens when the sun is up.” Harry laughs, softly, and presses another kiss into Louis’ hair. They lay like that for a few more minutes, both completely a peace. The next morning, Harry doesn’t even remember having fallen asleep.

XXX

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry asks, trying as hard as she can to keep her voice level under the circumstances.

Louis makes an angry noise, turning away from Harry, “No I’m not fucking kidding you. You never listen to a word I say and that’s why this is coming as a surprise. I told you my dad was going to try some shit like this. I told you. But you didn’t listen because you and your momma are high as shit on all that fucking ‘love is love’ liberal bullshit. Well Dave? He ain’t buying that horseshit. And he’s never—” Louis’ voice breaks, right along with Harry’s heart.

“Sweetheart.” Harry murmurs, reaching out a hand to touch Louis shoulder and turn her back to face Harry, but just before she makes contact Louis flinches away violently. A sob cuts through the quiet and Harry can’t take the distance between them anymore, so she presses her front to Louis back, wrapping her arms around her. Louis pushes away Harry’s arms and for a second Harry thinks Louis’s going to move away again, but instead she just turns to face Harry and buries her face into Harry’s sweatshirt. Harry lets her cry it out, hands combing through Louis’ hair as she makes shushing noises into her ear. Eventually Louis’ tears dry up, and she pulls her face away from Harry’s chest, eyes tight with exhaustion and face beet red with snot drying on the cupid’s bow above her mouth. Harry, without hesitation, pulls the end of her sweatshirt over her hand and gently wipes at Louis’ face while Louis refuses to meet her eye. Louis sniffs, and wraps her arms around herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me what he was saying in the first place,” Harry asked softly.

“Didn’t want to fight about it.” Louis mumbles, eyes still on the floor. Harry pulls Louis back in for a hug. Louis curls her head to fit under Harry’s chin; the only time she’ll ever willingly make herself small is in Harry’s arms. Harry presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Damn good job I did of keeping that from happening, hmm?” Harry sighs, regretful. Louis shakes her head. “Not your fault,” the words come out muffled, her mouth still pressed into Harry’s sweatshirt, “I can’t blame you for the way you feel.”

Harry pulls away from her, and cups a hand under her chin so their eyes can meet, “And I can’t blame you for the way _he_ feels. I’m sorry, Lou. Won’t happen again.” Louis smiles, a small one, but still there. “Apology accepted.” She says softly, popping up on tiptoes to bring their mouths a breath’s width apart. Harry slots her lips against her girlfriends in reply, the softness of the kiss smoothing over the remaining edge to their conversation.

Louis sighs into the kiss, then breaks it, choosing instead to tuck her head back under Harry’s chin. Harry runs an idle hand through Louis’ hair; wavy and messy from her tugging on it when she gets frustrated. “Guess we’ll skip the movies then, baby?” Harry murmurs into Louis’ ear.

Louis nods, “Wanna stay in tonight.” She whispers, the shadow of tears creeping back into her voice, “Hate going out sometimes, I feel like…” she trails off, Harry finishes for her, “We’re being watched.” Louis lets out a gust of breath, “Yeah.” She agrees, quietly, scrubbing a hand over her reddened cheek and sniffling. Harry tuts softly, taking the hand and bringing it to her lips for a kiss that makes Louis’ mouth grow into a watery smile. Harry slots her fingers between Louis’, still holding her close, breathing in the scent of rose shampoo that Harry got Louis for Christmas, keeping the moment for themselves.

XXX

“_Loving and forgiving are you, Oh Lord,_” Louis sings, her hands steady around the song book as she tilts it in Harry’s direction, giving her the option to read the words if she wishes to join Louis and the other 200some parishioners in the church, “_Slow to anger, rich in kindness, loving and forgiving are you…_”

Harry tends to zone out during mass. As a child, she’s sure she paid attention at some point, especially when they were in Sunday school and all they had to do was sing songs and color pictures about how much Jesus loves them; which has always been the approximate limit of her religious convictions. Her momma never pushed either her or her sister to attend services after they were confirmed, by that point she and Harry’s dad had been divorced for quite some time, and Anne decided to give Harry and Gemma the freedom of choice to practice their native Catholicism or not. Louis’ family, however, saw things a little differently. Harry resists the urge to turn her head back and look at Louis’ dad, a conservative, bible-quoting Catholic that has conditioned Louis to be so afraid any tiny perceived difference that she spent more than half her life hiding some of the most beautiful parts of herself from her entire family.

Harry used to fight with the man every chance that she got, nasty and heated arguments that never came to a positive conclusion. Now, she struggles on an almost daily basis to be around the man, the only thing forcing her to act with civility being that Louis is the girl she loves and wants to spend the rest of her life with, and that kind of planning won’t be ruined because Harry can’t tolerate the occasional ignorant comment and weekly church service (one of David’s many complaints about Harry was her lack of commitment to her ‘faith’). 

So, Sunday mass it is.

At least she gets to sit next to Louis, listen to her sing and hold her hand behind the safety of the wooden pew. The priest is droning at the front of the church in the lectern pit, his smile widening past welcoming and verging on frightening. She resists the urge to let her head drop back onto the edge of the pew to wait out the rest of the homily. She takes comfort in the fact that after this, the mass will be half over.

An agonizing half hour later, Harry is standing in Louis’ shadow as she talks to some of the Women’s Guild members about Louis’ and Harry’s impending fall semester; Louis’ last and Harry’s third.

Normally Harry would be all over Louis, hand on her waist and fingers wound through Louis’ own, but she knows that Louis prefers an absence of PDA around the churchgoers even if she never tells Harry explicitly. Their relationship, though not in any way a secret around town, is always easier when it’s unspoken and not demonstrated in public; where ignorant, bigoted eyes and ears are always watching, listening, and judging.

“Well,” Louis says, her voice sweet, “It was nice to see you lovely ladies as always, but we better make tracks, we have a lot of packing up to do before we make the drive out to Houston, right, H?”

Harry smiles when Louis refers to her, “You got it, I can feel the Pop’s short-stack calling my name anyway,” she says, patting her stomach. The ladies chuckle at the reference to the local diner, and the pancakes that Harry’s stomach have been growling for since they pulled into the church parking lot.

They walk out side-by-side, the inches of air between them charged with the energy of skin about to meet. The minute they reach the truck and slide inside, Harry reaches across the console to squeeze Louis’ thigh under the hem of her dress. Louis lets out a sigh, her head hanging forward for a moment. She turns to look at Harry, opening her mouth to say something before Harry shakes her head, cutting her off, and says, “I know, my own. I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t like going,” Louis says, tired, “It’s just…hard. Gets harder every week.”

“Well,” Harry poses thoughtfully, taking her hand off Louis for a second to turn the truck on and switch gears before placing it back where it belongs, “you made it through the entire summer. 48 more hours and we’ll be back home in Houston, and we can go to St. Bernadette’s all semester until Thanksgiving break.”

“Yeah,” Louis huffs, smiling, “You’re right. I’m just being dramatic.”

Harry backs out of the parking lot, turning onto the street in easy, practiced motions, “You’re not. Feelings are not good or bad; they only are. The key is controlling how you let them effect you and your relationships.”

Louis snorts, “Ok, Ghandi, relax.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ thigh again, rolling her eyes as she coasts around a turn and then pulls into the restaurant to park. Harry turns the truck off, but doesn’t make a move to let go of Louis or leave the truck. She leans back in her seat, turning to face Louis, “Hi.” Louis says softly, her blue eyes meeting green across the truck console.

Harry looks right back at her, “Hi yourself,” she replies, leaning in for a kiss. Louis lets their lips meet, once, chastely, because she, as much as Harry, can feel the eyes of every person in the parking lot, if not the whole world, on the two of them sitting in the truck. Harry pulls back, disappointed but not surprised. Louis tries to show her apology through her eyes, and Harry accepts it with a stiff nod, knowing that Louis does the best that she can_._

“We should go inside,” Louis says, voice muted, “people are staring.” Then she opens the truck door, sliding out and onto the ground. Harry huffs, opening her door and rushing after Louis, who has already started to walk up the blacktop hill to the diner’s entrance. Harry reaches her right as Louis opens the door, pausing before she walks in to grab Harry’s hand; a peace offering.

It isn’t everything, but it’s more than enough for now; for Harry.

XXX

“This is the most cliché thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Harry grins, the animosity in Louis’ tone making this experience even more enjoyable. “C’mon baby. Give it a chance?”

Louis raises an eyebrow, picking up the box of Christmas lights and shaking them in Harry’s direction. “Cool blue? You c’mon you pretentious—”

Harry cuts off her complaining with a kiss, and then leans back to bury her face in the top of Louis’ head, breathing her in and feeling Louis tighten her arms around Harry’s waist.

“Our first apartment together.” Harry murmured.

She feels Louis’ annoyed huff against her collarbones more than she hears it, “It’s a college dorm.”

“A university-owned apartment.”

“It’s a college dorm, you brat, and you know it.”

Harry pulls back to look at her girlfriend, smile bright and eyes soft, “We’re gonna live together this year.” She leaned in to press their foreheads together, “And next year we’ll move into one of those trashy houses on Rainsberry, because you’ll be working at the hospital and I don’t want you driving far after working all night, and then the year after that I’ll get a waitressing job—”

“You mean a writing job,” Louis chides lovingly, “You’re gonna be a writer, baby. I just know it,” she smooths her hands down the front of Harry’s blouse, gently gliding over the white lace as she does, her head quirking to the side as she grins, all mischief, “Or maybe you’ll be my housewife, cooking and cleaning and watching the kids while I’m out saving lives.”

“I’d be honored, ma’am,” Harry quips, all southern charm, “as long as you bring home the bacon I’ll fry it up.”

Louis laughs, eyes sparkling. She turns away from Harry and walks around the room, _their_ living room in _their_ apartment that they live in _together_. Harry can barely contain her excitement, watching Louis just walk around on the drab gray carpet surrounded by plain white walls; a blank slate waiting for Louis’ favorite sports team flags and Harry’s family of house plants to make it feel like home. It’s moments like this, like when Louis leaves her sneakers and hoodies in Harry’s closet or when she refers to Harry’s parents’ house as ‘home’ that make her think of the future, not so far from now, when they’ll share more than a love of spicy buffalo wings and a mailing address; when they’ll share a mortgage, a two-car garage, a junk drawer…a last name. 

Harry’s thoughts are interrupted by the very audile rumbling of her own stomach.

“Speaking of bacon…” Louis says, walking back over to Harry and reaching for her hand, “time to go get dinner?” Harry takes her hand, bring it up to her mouth to kiss Louis’ knuckles with ease.

“Yeah, we could go get dinner,” Harry says, spinning Louis around before reeling her in, “Or…” she trails off and presses a kiss to Louis’ blushing cheek, “we could stay in…I could cook…we could put on a movie and not watch it…”

Louis turns her face to kiss Harry, their mouths soft and open. Louis breaks away first, “I like the way you think.” She grins, “But don’t you dare expect me to lift one finger to help you.”

“What?” Harry asks, “So you could burn the whole building down? We literally just moved in.”

Louis narrows her eyes, “I don’t appreciate this blasphemy. I am an excellent cook, I’ll have you know that I made my girlfriend chicken wrapped—”

“—in ham and stuffed with mozzarella cheese with a side of homemade mashed potatoes, I know, Lou, I was there, remember?”

“I’m still not hearing an apology.”

“You’re right, love, I’m sorry. You’re an excellent cook.”

“I know. You don’t need to tell me every five minutes, babe, I really don’t need the compliment if you’re just going to be kissing up. I like them to be _genuine_.”

Harry sighs.

XXX

Harry takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly and evenly until she feels the knot in her stomach slowly unravel. She lets her left leg dangle off the end of the chair, her foot brushing patterns absently on the floor. She avoids staring at the clock, knowing that the mocking tick-tick-tick of the hands going further and further past her scheduled meeting time with her advisor making her more anxious by the minute. _Stop it._ She chides herself, _you’re being a freak. You’re not late, and the proposal will go fine. _

She sits, lost in her thoughts for another few minutes, trying not to stare at the clock and not stare at the door and not get her heart racing too hard, until a soft _buzz-buzz_ in her pocket breaks her anxious daydreaming. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, opening it with practiced double press of her thumb, sliding through her notifications to reach the most recent; a text from Louis.

She smiles as she reads it, (_don’t stress, dummy. you’ve got this!! i’m so proud of you, my darling. thesis approval today, published author tomorrow!! <3) _

“Harry?” Harry’s eyes dart from the phone screen to her advisor, Dr. Georgeson, who is standing in the doorway of her office, gesturing for her to come inside, “Ready?” Harry closes her phone, feeling calmer, and stands, “Of course, wonderful to see you, Dr. G.”

Later, Harry practically jumps down the steps of Moore Hall, the warmth of the sun on her face only increasing the lightness of her mood. She sprints across the quad, giddy as hell and probably frightening every person that passes her by. She sees Louis out in front of the student union, standing with some of her nursing friends, all of them wearing their hospital scrubs of navy and white.

“Baby!” Harry shouts, yelling across the quad like a lovesick loon and inciting the stares of more than a few people within earshot.

Louis looks over at her, squinting because of the sun in her eyes, “Stop yelling at me weird stranger!” she replies, to the chuckle of her friends and several onlookers, before turning her back completely on Harry and continuing her conversation.

“Weird stranger?” Harry mutters under her breath, “I’ll show _you _weird stranger.” Then she sprints over to where Louis is standing, watching the eyebrows of Louis’ classmates climb higher and higher until she can’t see them anymore because she has snatched Louis off the ground and tossed her over her shoulder in one fluid swoop that makes Louis let out a little _gasp _of surprise when her middle makes contact with Harry’s shoulder. Harry curtsies with a toothy grin to the other girls, all of whom are giggling at the ridiculous display the two of them make together, and then turns and walks away from the student union and down a side-path toward the bus stop.

She clamps her forearm across the backs of Louis’ knees, effectively ending her attempts to kick Harry as she walks. She hears Louis grunt in annoyance, wiggling back and forth to get out of Harry’s grip, “Ok, asshole, you’ve made your point. Put me down now? Like _right _now?”

Harry grins, walking faster, “I’m not hearing a please anywhere in that sentence.”

Louis huffs a laugh, her words disjointed from bouncing against Harry’s back, “And you’re a few fucking sandwiches short of a picnic if you think you’re getting one, _now put me down_.” Harry sighs, stopping to gently slide Louis off her shoulder, catching her when she stumbles back a bit. “You’re no fun.” Harry says, pouting. Louis smiles, soft and sweet, and leans in to give Harry a kiss, slow and gentle.

Harry gets lost in it, because how could she not; Louis’ perfect mouth against her own is as close as heaven on earth as she can imagine. After a moment or a few hours (Harry isn’t sure, the noon sun could have set and turned to night for all she cared), Louis pulls her lips away and leans forward so that her breath is brushing the shell of Harry’s ear, “If you ever embarrass me out in public like that again, I’m going to shave your head while you sleep.”

Then she leans back from Harry, smile smug with the confidence to make good on her threat in her eyes, and saunters down the sidewalk.

Harry stands for a second, lost in the daze of the kiss, and then starts jogging after her.

XXX

Harry is three paragraphs into her discussion post for her stupid history class when she feels a pull on the back of her wheelie chair, then a warm, heavy, weight drops into her lap that completely blocks her laptop. Harry tilts her face up, smiling, to meet Louis’ lips and takes her hands off the arm rests to wrap them around Louis’ waist, keeping her in Harry’s lap. They kiss, briefly, then Louis’ pulls back to brush a stray curl out of Harry’s eyes.

“Hey, you.” Louis says sweetly, eyes soft.

“Hey, baby.” Harry says, just to see Louis blush and smile so hard her eyes crinkle at the sides, “How was your day?”

Louis leans back into Harry’s hands, still winding her fingers through the curls at the front of Harry’s hair, twisting the curls around her finger forward and back, “Good. Long. I missed you. Yours?”

“About the same.” Harry replies, pulling Louis a little closer so that their stomachs are touching. “You have any work tonight?”

Louis scrunches her nose and tilts her head to the side. Harry thinks it’s horribly cute. “Not much, most of its article re-reading for my capstone.”

“Ahhh.” Harry breathes, pressing a kiss into Louis’ collarbone as she speaks; Louis giggling as she does, “the dreaded capstone. How long does it have to be again?”

The scrunchy face is back. “Round-a-bouts 20 pages. It’s gonna take 20 fucking years off my life at the rate its going.” She rolls her eyes, “Lorna was dragging the last draft I gave her through a pit of red pens and then handed it back to me with a smile.”

Harry snorts, “You need to stop calling the head of your program by her first name, because the next time I see her I’ll fuck up and call her that to her face.”

Louis shrugs, “The next time you’ll see her is my pinning, and she’ll be so drunk she probably won’t notice anyway.” At the mention of Louis’ pinning ceremony Harry’s smile widens. She’s so proud of her girl for all the hard work she’s put in the past four years for her nursing degree, and she can’t wait to watch her walk across that stage in just a few short months.

“I can’t believe you’re graduating,” Harry murmurs, in awe, “It always seemed so far away, before.”

Louis snickers, “Well time does tend to work like that, love.” Harry pouts. Louis kisses her. Harry stops pouting and starts winding her hands through Louis’ hair instead. Louis pulls away, disapproval on her face, “We’re in public, you _lecher_.”

Harry grins and pulls her back in for another kiss, “You’re the one who sat on my lap in the middle of the library when I was just trying to bullshit about the Huns, you _temptress_.”

Louis barks out a real laugh at that, smile wide and eyes fond. She leans in again, “Then let’s get out of here, huh? _Fuck _the Huns.” Their lips connect again, Louis slips her tongue between Harry’s lips and Harry takes the hint and sucks.

Louis lets out a moan, quiet and a little breathy and far too NSFW for the middle of the library. Someone could hear that noise. Someone that is not Harry. Someone that doesn’t deserve to hear the little pathetic noises Louis makes just for Harry. Harry pulls back, a string of spit falling from between their mouths in way that should be completely disgusting.

(It isn’t.)

“Screw the Huns.” Harry corrects, wiping her thumb across Louis’ bottom lip to wipe at the wetness there, feeling the heat in her cheek as she does, “I’d rather fuck _you _instead.”

Louis grins and leans forward in Harry’s lap, her hot, wet mouth at Harry’s ear, “Then what are we still sittin’ here for?”

The walk back to their apartment takes far too long.

Louis has her arms around Harry’s neck and her tongue in Harry’s mouth before the front door has swung shut. They stumble backwards through their tiny living room, down the hallway, and fall against the door of their shared bedroom. Harry cages Louis in against the door, hands creeping up her back under her shirt to head straight for the hook of her bra. Louis gasps when Harry gets her hands on Louis’ breasts, soft and warm on her palms now that they’re freed from their underwire cups. Then, her hands slip down her back to grip Louis’ ass, round and full under the leggings Louis prefers to wear. They neck for a little longer, both of their shirts and bras getting tossed to the floor in the process until their top halves are skin-to-skin. Harry bites Louis’ lip, red and flushed from kissing, and watches her pupils go wider and wider until Louis pulls her lip away and dives into Harry’s throat, biting and sucking at whatever skin she can reach before traveling back up to Harry’s mouth, stealing her air.

“Stop teasin’” Louis whines between kisses, her back-woods-Texan twang bubbling up with her frustration, their mouths barely a breath apart, “‘M so wet baby, please, no more teasin’” Harry grins, one hand gripping Louis’ left ass cheek and the other on her right tit. She weighs her options for half a second, then relinquishes the tit to travel south, ghosting her fingers over the gusset of Louis’ leggings. Louis’ head thumps against the door as Harry’s fingers brush over her, and Harry can feel the slick heat radiating through the layers of fabric, can practically taste it when she pulls her fingers away and sucks on them, hollowing her cheeks and lowering her lashes like its’ the best thing she’s ever had in her mouth just to see that burning look on Louis’ face.

“So wet…” Harry murmurs, slipping her hand back down, this time to slip into the front of Louis’ leggings and hold her in her hand, making Louis moan and rut forward, trying to get Harry’s fingers between her folds, but Harry clucks chidingly, pulling back her hand and licking her palm from wrist to fingertip, “….taste so good. So sweet, my own.”

Louis’ patience reaches its’ end. “Fuck me.” She begs, equal parts desperate and demanding.

“Yeah.” Harry replies, pulling Louis in for another kiss, then pressing her forehead against Louis’ so she can stare into her eyes, “Yeah I’ll fuck you, baby. Only person you’ll let fuck you, yeah?”

Louis nods against Harry, her hands trying to decide whether she wants to pull Harry’s hair or grab Harry’s tits, “Only want you. No one else,” she whispers breathlessly.

Harry opens the door behind them and they practically fall inside, giggling as they kick off their Nikes (Louis) and boots (Harry) and slip (or skinny-jean-wiggle, in Harry’s case) out of their pants and fall back into their bed in nothing but their panties. Harry gets up on her knees and leans over Louis, yanking on her thighs to pull Louis flush against her. Louis squeals as she’s pulled, a sweet smile on her face as she looks into Harry’s eyes.

Harry bends down, her face hovering over her girlfriend as she trails her fingers up and down Louis’ thigh, getting closer and closer to the trim on Louis’ panties with every pass. Louis whines, her little breaths puffing over Harry’s face as she does. “H…” she murmurs, “told you—” Harry cuts her off with a kiss, opening Louis’ lips easily to suck on her tongue. Harry feels Louis reach behind and pull the clip out of her hair, tossing it on the floor and burying her delicate fingers in Harry’s curls, keeping their mouths locked together. Harry pulls back with a gasp, then goes back in to pepper kisses all over Louis’ face just to see her laugh, eyes crinkled up at the edges and sparkling. Harry leans in again to press a small peck on Louis’ smiling mouth, and when she pulls away they press their foreheads together, eyes tender and locked on each other.

“C’mere,” Louis murmurs, Harry can feel the heat of her breath on her lips.

“Couldn’t get closer if I tried,” Harry brushes a hand down the side of Louis’ face, cupping her chin and rubbing her thumb down it gently, “And wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” Louis’ answering smile is dazzling. Harry kisses her again, because she has an addiction to Louis’ cotton candy lips that hasn’t lessened even after 12 full months of having them constantly in reach.

She pulls back to press a kiss to Louis’ throat, then her shoulder, her collarbone, the space between her breasts, the swell of her belly, and down, down, down to Louis’ center, right over the wet spot in the gusset of Louis’ panties. Her fingers tuck themselves under their waistband, slipping down her legs and off of her completely, free for Harry to toss them behind her, eyes on the feast in front of her.

Louis lets out a gasp when she feels Harry’s hot breath, hovering right over the pink wetness of her clit. Harry pauses there, letting Louis catch her breath, squirm her hips a little bit back and forth where Harry doesn’t have them pinned, then she slides her hands off her thighs and brings them down between Louis legs to spread her open, giving Harry easy access to lick her from bottom to top. Harry drags her tongue up from Louis’ hole to her clit, tasting her juices and relishing in the sound of the long, low groan that bursts from Louis, “Baby—_fuck_—H,” she gasps, grinding her hips against Harry’s tongue as she licks hard against Louis’ clit, giving her the pressure she needs. Harry pulls back, kissing inner thighs while Louis pants above her.

“What do you want, my own? My fingers? Or should I get my strap?” Harry asks between sucking hickies.

“Um. I. I—uh, _fuck_,” Louis stutters when Harry pulls her clit into her mouth and sucks, hard, then let’s go and blows cool air over the wet flesh, “I can’t. I can’t _think_ when you’re—oh, fu—_ck_ me—_I can’t think when you’re doing that_.”

Harry smiles, the sound of Louis falling apart under her mouth music to her ears, “Take your time, my own. No rush, plenty of fun to be had down here in the meantime.” She keeps going, sucking and licking and kissing every bit of skin and wetness that Louis has to offer, unable to resist slipping on hand down into her own underwear, the feeling of fingers sliding between her wet folds making her let out a sigh of relief right into Louis’ core.

Above her, Louis starts to grind her hips up into Harry’s mouth, little _uh uh uh_s falling from between her lips without her seeming to notice. Louis is getting close, Harry can feel it in the way her breath is coming shorter and shorter with every swing of her hips, so she makes the executive decision to give Louis the thing her hips are searching for, “So pretty,” she murmurs again, because it’s true and beautiful truths are always worth repeating, “I think you need some fingers, yeah, love?”

Louis lets out a noise like a sob, “Yeah, fingers—_fuck, _baby, please, want ‘em.”

That’s all the go-ahead Harry needs before she tucks her two fingers into Louis and begins to move them in time with the rolls of her hips. Harry lets Louis fuck herself on her fingers for another moment, using her spare hand to rub at her own clit, and then dives back into Louis’ wet, pink, center. Harry stops _fuckin’ teasin’_ this time; giving Louis firm sweeping laves with her tongue in between wrapping her lips, still puffy from necking, around her clit and sucking as hard as she can.

It only takes Louis another minute, barely, before her hips stutter once, twice, and then her back arches up into Harry’s mouth and she lets out a soft, almost prayerful, “oh, _fuck_,” and comes all over Harry’s face.

She’s so close, heat building in her belly; she sucks Louis’ cunt like a woman mad with thirst, her fingers rubbing her clit so fast it burns, so hard it almost _hurts_, which is what Harry fucking _loves_, that feeling when she knows that her body will be sore after. Louis knows it too, because even though she must be so sensitive and at least a little dazed from her orgasm, she sits up a little, wrapping her one fist in Harry’s hair to pull it taut and using it shove her face further between Louis’ legs; the other hand groping and twisting at Harry’s nipples, which are already tight and painful.

“C’mon baby,” Louis slurs, “Almost there, baby, c’mon. Come for me. C’mon, good girl.”

Harry gasps, right into Louis wet, pink, core. Her body spasms as pleasure rockets down her spine, her hips still bucking against her fingers even as goose-pimples flash across her entire body. Louis releases her hair, using the hand instead to smooth down the back of Harry’s head. Harry leans back, turning to press wet, messy kisses all along the inside of Louis’ thigh, then resting her cheek on it, panting.

Louis flops back onto the bed, equally out of breath, “Come up here,” she murmurs, her hand coming down to stroke Harry’s cheek clumsily. Harry wiggles up Louis’ body, then wraps herself all around it like moss growing on a tree. Louis sighs, satisfied, and wraps her arms around Harry’s back.

Harry closes her eyes, breathing in the homey scents of Louis and sex, and feels lips gently pressed to her forehead. “I love you.” Louis says softly, the words falling from her lips like wishes from a dandelion puff.

Harry sits up, to look Louis in the eye, and lets gravity pull their lips together in possibly the softest kiss ever had.

“I love you too, my own.” She murmurs back, brushing a hand across Louis’ cheek. She leans back down, snuggling her head back into it’s resting place, the comforting metronome of Louis’ heartbeat pounding against her cheek. “More and more every day.”

They lay like that, the air warm and comfortable and insular; their own bubble of magic created that could burst any second if they move too much or breathe too hard. Harry can feel Louis fingers drawing nonsense patterns on the bare skin of her shoulder, and the late afternoon sun coming in from the window feels good on the side of her face.

Harry falls asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Read more of my terrible 1D fic; [darling, i'll take care of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287082)
> 
> Follow my terrible 1D/lesbian worship/catasrophe of a [tumblr](https://louly23.tumblr.com)


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